


a trick of the light

by fade131



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Summer Romance, Supernatural - Freeform, just a tiny bit though, that's right im cliche as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4321791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fade131/pseuds/fade131
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daehyun’s back in his summer job, serving coffee at the shop on the corner, because even though he hoped he’d be hired right out of school he knew it wasn’t likely. He has his hopes, sending out applications to every opening he can find, because he doesn’t want to do this forever, or even for much longer. And then he meets someone new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a trick of the light

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for this week's [B.A.P Bingo Challenge](http://bapbingochallenge.tumblr.com/) prompt, Summer Romance.
> 
> A sequel/prequel to my previous story, found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4103335). It's not necessary to read both to understand, but there are a few things in this one that won't make any sense without the other.

It’s the first day of summer when they meet.

Daehyun’s back in his summer job, serving coffee at the shop on the corner, because even though he hoped he’d be hired right out of school he knew it wasn’t likely. He has his hopes, sending out applications to every opening he can find, because he doesn’t want to do this forever, or even for much longer. There’s only so long his polite smile can stay in place before it wears too thin. 

The shop has its regular schedule, of course. The earliest customers are always in a rush, on their way to work, but they appreciate it when he remembers their orders. A few more colorful characters take up the best seats for hours at a time, plugging in their laptops and taking over more table space than a single person strictly requires, buying one coffee and nursing it through to the lunch rush, when the café gets too loud and they vacate, huffy at the interruption. After the flurry of customers wanting cold drinks and premade sandwiches disperses out of their doors to go lounge in the park, the afternoon drags. Daehyun thinks it’s lucky his shift ends then, but he wishes he could work longer. He could certainly use the money.

New customers aren’t really a thing. Every once in a while someone pops in who’s looking to try something new. Bored teenagers looking for a new hang out spot, businessmen tired of the trendier, higher-priced café three blocks over – but for the most part, Daehyun finds he recognizes their customers, remembers their usual orders, jokes with them for switching things up on him. It’s all a comfortable routine.

So he notices, then, on the morning when something’s different.

He looks a little lost, the hood up on his black sweatshirt, wires from his headphones dangling down to disappear into his pocket. Daehyun gives him a moment, watching him stare at the menu – high cheekbones and soft brown eyes, his bangs grown too long, the sleeves of his hoodie long enough to cover his knuckles. He bites his bottom lip, considering, before reaching in to his hood to pull out an earphone and giving Daehyun an awkward smile as he makes his order.

He stays near the counter while Daehyun makes the drink, fingers tapping idly to the beat of the music, although Daehyun can’t hear it over the latest mellow tune on the store radio. He grins when Daehyun hands over his drink, biting his lip again. He sits in the comfy chair in the far corner of the store, reading something on his phone, and leaves when the sun’s truly up and the flow of customers is steadier.

He comes back the next day.

And the next, and the next, and then it’s a pattern. He’s always listening to something, but unlike some customers he always takes out his headphones when he talks to Daehyun. Once, he comes when there are still a few people in line, and Daehyun learns his name is Youngjae, in order to write it on his cup. He wears the same hoodie all the time, and his sneakers are tearing open at the toe, and there’s paint on the knees of his jeans. He laughs awkwardly at Daehyun’s casual chatter, and doesn’t offer much, but he’s nice. Sweet, even. Early mornings are usually just Daehyun and the brief rushes of busy people, but now Youngjae’s there when the shop is empty in between customers. Even if they only talk occasionally – about the weather, the state of the pastry display, or once about a particularly rude customer – it’s nice to have someone else around. Sometimes the sunrise catches Youngjae’s eyes as he stares at his phone screen, bright and brilliant, and Daehyun thinks he can see stars.

“When do you get off work?” Youngjae asks, during a quiet moment between customers. It’s been almost a month now.

Daehyun gives him his usual smile, but Youngjae arches an eyebrow at him like he’s already seen through the coy response on the tip of Daehyun’s tongue. “I’m done at two,” he says, surprising himself.

Or maybe he’s not really that surprised. Maybe he’s been interested all along.

Youngjae grins. “I’ve got class until three thirty, but maybe we could—”

“No coffee,” Daehyun interrupts. Youngjae blinks at him, then laughs, nodding.

“No coffee,” he agrees.

Daehyun meets him at the park at three forty five, after showering off the smell of espresso and changing into something more comfortable for the summer heat than his black-and-black uniform. They walk along the riverfront, and Youngjae talks about starting his master’s degree in photography, and the trip he went on to the ocean, and the new game he’s trying to beat. Daehyun tells him about his seemingly fruitless job search, and about how he almost went to school for music, and all the petty annoyances of customer service. Youngjae stumbles over a cracked piece of the sidewalk and Daehyun takes his hand to steady him, and doesn’t let go.

They have dinner together at Daehyun’s favorite restaurant four days later, and a week after that they see a movie. Youngjae kisses him as the credits roll, slow and warm and sweet, like he’s been working up the courage through the whole film, and when they part his eyes catch the sparse light and almost glow in the darkness, and Daehyun thinks he’s never felt this good before.

They spend a long weekend at the beach house Daehyun’s parents rent for the summer, and Youngjae takes a thousand pictures in the surf and the sand and the bright sun, and the stars, and of the way the light filters through the curtains across Daehyun’s tanned skin in the early morning. Daehyun learns that Youngjae doesn’t like to be marked, but he’ll happily litter Daehyun with scratches and bites, and he learns the shape of the lightning-veined scar that chases over the crest of Youngjae’s hip, and how it feels pressed hard against his palm, and the low breathy sound Youngjae makes before he comes apart.

Daehyun spends half the week in Youngjae’s apartment when they get back, and Youngjae spends the other half in his, and when the air conditioning in the building sputters and dies they spend humid nights on the roof watching the stars, wishing for a cooler breeze. Youngjae comes to the café with him at opening time, and Daehyun lets him in even though it’s not strictly allowed, and Youngjae tells him stories while he brews coffee for the day.

“You said you were looking for a job?” asks one of his regulars – the doctor, his name badge clipped to his breast pocket, who comes in at precisely six-oh-five every morning, medium iced Americano with one sugar. 

Daehyun didn’t say that, but then he and Youngjae are always talking in the mornings now, maybe he said it before. “Yeah,” he says, cheerfully, as he makes the drink. “I like this, but it’s not – a permanent thing, you know?”

The doctor nods in agreement, the corners of his mouth turning up, cat-like, and Daehyun sees Youngjae arch his eyebrows at him when he hands over the drink. The doctor fishes into his briefcase and pulls out a card, handing it over to Daehyun. “Send me your resume. We’re always hiring.”

Daehyun’s still looking at the card when the door chime jingles, the doctor striding out to his car. Youngjae leans on the counter in front of him. 

“That was weird, wasn’t it? We weren’t talking about—”

“He works at that place outside of town,” Daehyun interrupts, turning the card over. There isn’t any more on the back, just an email address in jagged, cramped handwriting. The card is white, heavy paper, embossed with a broken circle. The front says _Doctor Kim_ in simple black type, and _The Institution_ just below it. 

Youngjae wrinkles his nose, but he doesn’t make another comment. Daehyun lets himself daydream for a moment, about getting a nicer apartment, about the two of them living together for real, about finally doing some work in his field. He’d applied to the Institution before he graduated, hoping to start right out of college, but they had never answered. 

Then he pushes the card into his back pocket and shakes his head. “I’ve gotta make more coffee,” he says, and Youngjae sighs.

“I better leave for class anyway. Have a good day.”

“You too!” Daehyun calls over his shoulder, glancing back as Youngjae picks up his bag, hefting it over his shoulder. The last red-gold of sunrise catches Youngjae’s eyes, but for a moment Daehyun thinks they’re bright, white, like trapped stars, bright enough that even the sun and the buzzing fluorescents overhead seem to dim a little bit—

Youngjae catches his eyes, and blows him a kiss. Daehyun flushes and shakes his head, a little dazzled, and turns back to the coffee pot, daydreaming about the promise of a better job. He almost misses it when the door chimes to signal a new customer.

It’s cooler now, the humidity finally going down, but Youngjae still drags him up to watch the stars on lazy nights, pressed warm and solid against his side when Daehyun complains about the temperature. His interviews go well, and Dr. Kim thinks he’s a good fit – _the work might be tedious at times, I won’t lie, but it needs to be done, and if you’re good for the Institution there’s plenty of room for advancement here_ – and when he gets the job they celebrate with champagne, and cake, and Daehyun feeds it to him on their couch, giggling and climbing into his lap, straddling his hips, dissolving into breathless mock-protest when Youngjae abandons dessert for the taste of Daehyun’s warm skin. 

Daehyun thinks he’ll miss it, on the last day he works at the café. They gave him the night shift, for once, and he thinks he’ll miss it just a little bit, as he locks the doors behind him. But, he thinks, slipping his former key into an envelope and dropping it into the tiny mail slot beside the door, now he’s moving on to something better. He didn’t expect the summer to go this well at all.

It’s almost midnight when he gets home, and he expects to be alone but Youngjae’s there, sprawled in his bed. Daehyun changes into his pajama pants as quietly as he can, creeping around the room, but when he finally moves to climb into bed Youngjae’s watching him, eyes bright in the slant of moonlight streaming through the curtains. 

Eyes so soft and wide and bright.

“Come to bed, Dae,” Youngjae says, and from his tone Daehyun thinks he might have said it before. He shakes it off, and crawls in beside him, stretching out on the cool sheets. Youngjae’s eyes are brown, he reminds himself, and when he looks up they are, normal and dark. Youngjae presses a kiss to his lips, and mumbles _sleep_ , and Daehyun smiles.

Tomorrow will be a new day.


End file.
